When I was a teenager, my morning routine consisted of a panicked, headlong rush down the ice-covered dirt roads that separated my rural ancestral home from the gravel parking lot at my high school. My steed of choice in those days was a decade-old Ford pickup, whose four-speed manual gearbox and 70/30 weight distribution ensured that I spent most of my commute completely sideways with the tachometer (aftermarket and strapped to the steering column, of course) pegged in the
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